


Lazy

by pony_express



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1545221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pony_express/pseuds/pony_express
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun cared little about the 3 hour sleep he managed to grab; cared little about for the dream he having in which everything was all rainbows and butterflies, and that he was smiling because of it for the first time in days; cared little that before that dream he was a wreck of worry over the spy, who’d still not returned this morning. . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters borrowed without consent for personal, non-profit use. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> First published on my LJ on Nov. 5th, 2012.

The hotel room had a cold air to it. The colours of the wall, and matching shade of the carpet mirrored that feeling, but did little to dampen the spirits of the young man laid across the bed. Damp! That was the off smell he couldn’t quite define, now he was almost sure. The curtains did as much to keep the early morning sun out as the windows did the noise from the traffic. The morning sun flooded in through the thin curtain, highlighting his thin frame. He groaned, rolling over to try and block it’s beckoning.

The sun cared little about the 3 hour sleep he managed to grab; cared little about for the dream he having in which everything was all rainbows and butterflies, and that he was smiling because of it for the first time in days; cared little that before that dream he was a wreck of worry over the spy, who’d still not returned this morning. His spirits dampening; becoming deadbeat in reflection of the room.

With his early morning haze, and lack of clear vision due to him being without his glasses, everything seemed a blur. A shadow crossed the room in front of the window. A smile appeared on the quartermaster’s face when the figure provided enough shade for his eyes to be sheltered from the bitch of a sun. Then he turned. A shadow. It passed before he could make it and was rewarded with that sun blinding his eyes.

Blinking, to once more adjust his eyes to the change in light, Q called out softly. The name on his was the name of the man who’d been in his dream. It was the name of the man who appeared, as if by magic, at that moment, hovering above his face, inching from him. He grinned. It was all he could do. That man, he grinned too. The quartermaster was thankful he did; was sure there would be a smirk, a sly comment or snide remark about how girly he was, or whatever. He studied the eyes for a moment. The spy he noted was staring into his. There was none of that macho appeal the spy strutted around in; just a genuine smile on his face and deep understanding in his eyes.

He reached up, slowly, lazily, like the rest of his morning had felt. He touched the spy’s lips with his own, slow and lazy. Everything about that morning had the sluggish feel to it, until that moment. That moment changed the dynamic. The sun was welcomed. The roar of the rush hour traffic was no longer hurtful or unkind to his ear. Now he could see; his eyes fully adjusted and wow, what a sight.

After kissing back in equal lazy and passion to his own kiss, the man of Q’s desire smiles at him. Q licks his lips; he can taste blood and wonders absently if it’s his own or Bond’s. He felt a scar on those lips when he kissed them; felt the lips forming their scars to heal the cut and wondered how deep it went and where else, if anywhere, Bond had cuts and bruises. He won’t ask. Forms the words but his mouth motions another kiss rather than words, and when he’s done with that he’s so content he forgets. Just having Bond back is enough. Cuts, scars, bruises and all! At least he’s back, and in one piece.

Almost stops the room from being so dim. The sun is helping with that too, but Q likes to think it’s more in the feel of the day to blame it on Bond, however hopelessly romantic it sounds. Bond lays next to him, brushing random stands of fringe back from his face and just smiles. And he wonders how long it’ll be until Bond has to rush off again, either to check back at HQ or for another mission. When Bond sighs context, he forgets all he’s worries. Because he is here for now, and that is all that matters right now.


End file.
